


A Matter of Choice

by Oscarthegrouch



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Psychiatric Hospital, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Patient Will Graham, Short, mention of violence and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 13:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oscarthegrouch/pseuds/Oscarthegrouch
Summary: After a violent episode, Will Graham is confined to a mental institution. He awaits to meet his new psychiatrist.





	A Matter of Choice

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for the Hannibal fandom, I was super excited to join in! This initially was the first chapter of a story I was struggling to develop. A friend told me it could act up as a short story and voilà!  
> Hopefully the other fics I'm working on will come out soon enough.

* * *

    

       There is soft continuous sweep of feet against the linoleum floor that grates the young man's ears. Will tries to tune the sound out by staring at his surroundings. The room is furnished with taste. The warm tones offer a stark contrast with the usual white tones of the hospital.

Ears win over eyes as the sound continues to cling at his eardrums.

In his mind he sees the soles of a heavy weighted male walking steadily through the corridor (he imagines it's a male considering the sound of the pace). He pictures the knees bouncing loftily under the joint pressure of the hip joints and heels pressing against each other.

Will shakes his head, as if to rid himself of the images his overly active imagination brought him. It worked like an affectionate cat, dropping him dead birds he didn't want to welcome. It had been his only friend between these walls yet probably the instigator of his demise.

The sound increases gradually, signifying an imminent approach of the disturber. Will rubs his ears purposefully, irritated at the perspective of an intrusion.

He sighs, eyes haggard and mouth slack. His eyes are running after a picture it can't catch up with. The new meds have impaired his capacity to focus, it's harder and harder for him to imagine himself in his peaceful heaven.

He has to press his eyes very tightly to fight the upcoming tears, the memory of his sky wooden cottage near the woods making him yearn in a hurtful way. He tastes something bitter on his tongue and swallows it down the best he can, refusing to fall into a spiral of self-pity.

A detail clicks in his mind; he notices that the footsteps have stopped. There's a pregnant pause and then a swift knock against the thick wooden door. The sharp sound of bones resonates in his silence.

Will pinches his cheeks self-consciously and straightens in his seat, very well aware of his messy appearance. The knock is sturdy and comes from a self-assured person he analyzes. He doesn't answer, understanding very well that it's a formality in which he doesn’t have a say.

The click of the hinges ring in his eardrums like the crack of a bone. The door falls back and closes with an ominous sound. All he thinks is that he really doesn't want to be here.

The same footsteps resume their pace, creaking at the wooden steps and than making the floor boards cringe. Will shivers, a warning chill climbs up his spine. He wonders if he already had felt somebody's presence in a room so clearly.

The rectangular office, although decorated homely and with taste, feels suffocatingly small. The need to hide scratches at his lumbar vertebra. He sits straighter to ignore it and tries not to shiver a second time when a silvery voice greets him : ''Good afternoon Mr. Graham.''

The seated man shakes his dark curls in a dismissive manner.

''What's good about it Doctor, I beg you do tell me ?'' he replies, the irony in his tone barely hidden.

Unsurprised, the man behind him smiles slightly, pleased by the bitterness in the hoarse voice of his patient.

He approaches slowly and a crown of curls previously hidden by the seatback comes into view. His fingers get a sudden itch to pet them, the softness of their appearance seducing him. His lips twitch, instead he lays a long fingered hand on the round shoulder, marveling at its shape and answers in an even voice : ''How about being able to look forward to working together Mr. Graham ? Or more humbly, to this warm cup of tea I brought you.'' he lays the cup on the small coffee table at Will's left and seats himself opposite in his imposing armchair.

Unconsciously, Will rubs at his shoulder where he had been touched, dismayed by the physical contact. The Doctor catches the gesture but remains stoic about it, continuing his sentence rather passively : ''I assure you it's of the finest quality and one of my favorites. It comes directly from China. Oolong has very calming properties.''

Will scoffs. The implication of his intention to pacify him angering him. He takes a sip nonetheless, allowing himself to stay silent. He lets the liquid in his mouth linger, wanting to judge the taste for himself more out of defiance than curiosity.

The man across him watches him carefully, making him uncomfortable. He's gauged rather obviously which makes him wonder if the stranger is either impolite or honest. He puts back the teacup on the cherry surface rather suddenly, feeling as if the act of drinking was far too intimate too indulge in, in front of a stranger

There's a silence the room. Will interprets it as uncomfortable but the psychiatrist doesn't seem to mind. He is sitting patiently, legs crossed and chin thoughtfully pinched between his index and thumb. Will shifts in his chair, feeling fidgety.

Doctor Lecter smiles again. He uses that amiable tone of voice to reassure him: ''As you probably have already discerned, there is a chair and a table in this office.'' he begins gently. ''You may sit or lay down, whichever makes you more comfortable. But if you feel like standing, you may wonder as you please. I find the mind sometimes works better when the body is in motion.''

Will doesn't need to be told twice. He has a fear of being improper that seizes him from time to time, it causes him to force himself to imitate what he assumes to be correct behavior. It had driven him to the seat, although being seated had been tiresome to his nerves. He springs to his feet and walks to the back of the office on jutting legs to stand near the window. The distance he puts between himself and the stranger immediately relieves a pressure he hadn't been aware of. The younger lad closes his eyes in obvious relief, enjoying the feeling of oxygen passing more easily through his lungs.

The Doctor watches him amused. ''You seem like a walking contradiction Will'' he comments. ''I may call you Will ?'' he inquires out of curtsy.

''I'd rather you not'' the other says without turning towards the source of the voice. He wants to ask the man what he means about that, it tickles the tip of his tongue but he understands that the question will engage a conversation he doesn't want to indulge in. Stubbornly, he fixates his eyes on the inner courtyard.

''I don't mind silence Mr. Graham.'' the psychiatrist says casually. ''You may talk whenever you are ready. However do understand that I am here for you, and that I am working in your best interest, in the capacity of my intellect of course'' he adds, leaning forward.

The invitation in his voice is tempting. Will realizes that the man knows how to push the right buttons to charm his way through reluctant patients without being obvious. That is to someone unfamiliar with psychology. It alarms him and reassures him both, instructing him that he has been entrusted with a man of important caliber.

''I have heard that you are better than Doctor Chilton.'' he comments to distract, still staring outside.

Hannibal strokes his lower lip and his nostrils twitch ever so slightly, a reaction exhibiting his disguised contempt. ''I believe the adjective 'better' to be a subjective word. What do you mean by it ?''

Will turns around for the first time. He jerks slightly when their eyes make their first contact. Amber meets still-water and an uneasy feeling churns inside of his gut. Those eyes, so still and sharp, are understanding and seeing too much.

He drops his eyes, feeling somehow trapped. He does not understand what bothers him about the man's eyes but it makes him feel complying. He covers his unease with conversation. ''Better as in less subjective.'' he whispers. ''Better as in less projections. Sharper.'' he finishes.

A glint of contempt juts in the seated man's eyes. ''I have been praised for my talents, but cannot speak about them myself, it would be of bad taste.'' he comments. ''And so would a critique about one of my colleagues.'' Doctor Lecter leans back into his chair, pressing his angel bones against the furniture. He folds his hands against his lap, a light impatience manifesting itself. ''How do you like your surroundings Mr. Graham?'' he tries, evidently trying to start the therapy.

Will's eyes are back on the outside. He presses his valentine lips before uttering his response. ''Which ones Doctor? Your office or my cell?''.

Doctor Lecter's head tilts in disapproval. ''Your room Mr. Graham. Your room'' he corrects in a patronizing voice. ''I was referring to any really..'' he says nonchalantly. ''The hospital grounds themselves, my office, or the place your mind seems so intent on finding back.''

Will startles at the last mention. He narrows his eyes at the man, accusingly and unforgiving. Feeling raped of a precious part of his intimacy.

The glare is not ignored. Hannibal purses his lips, feeling for his words before letting them out. ''I am your psychiatrist Will'' he states. ''It is my role to notice the smaller things about you. It was hard not to notice the way your eyes drift searchingly whenever silence overcame our discussion.''

Will feels anger grating at his patience, thinning it and encouraging more violent behaviors. ''You talk about a room Doctor Lecter'' he spits, ''But I cannot furnish it the way I want, I am told when and what to eat, when to go out or to sleep. I am being ripped from my freedom! It is bad enough I am physically intruded on and now I have to accept being violated psychologically to?'' he asks, tremors shaking his voice. ''I want to be treated like a decent human being God dammit! No Doctor Lecter I am not looking forward to having my brains picked out by a stranger, knowing that they are the most intimate thing a human being has!'' he barks, punctuating his last words by slamming his hand flatly against the glass.

Hannibal seems unimpressed by his flare. He keeps his stare even and Will fights not to blink as he maintains eye-contact.

''Except that by society's standards decent human beings don't impale others on sharpened bats Mr. Graham'' he replies coldly.

Will eyes shoot wide and he bites his knuckles to the blood to suppress tears or a scream. He isn't sure.

The Doctor gets ups from his seat. His elegant motions somewhat enthralling. Will closes his eyes as he hears those footsteps again. Tears are begging to be released from his eyes but he keeps them hidden sternly, like a jailor. Hannibal watches the anguish playing on his patient's face. Somewhat bored yet still hoping. He rests against his large desk, palms holding the edges.

He waits for Will to open his eyes again to speak. The angry eyes have turned from spite to nervous and fragile. The big blues are shimmering with saline water, painting a perfect images of vulnerability. It makes his lips involuntarily smile.

''What I gather from what you have said Will, is that you are anxious at your loss of control. You wish to be the instigator of your own life again. I understand how important freedom is. But if I did declare you releasable, do you believe that in your given state your life outside would be an actual one of freedom? Or do you understand that your inner turmoil would prevent you to be entirely yourself?''

Will makes a disgruntled expression. He turns the suggestion in his mind, wondering at the truth it beholds. He hadn't wanted to see it or believe it but his life had been lived in fear and control. He had fought and struggled to fit in. Then he had stopped and excepted his difference. It had calmed his anxiety but to say it had banished it would be delirious.

Yes, fear had been a constant in his life. The question was whether Dr. Lecter was right. Had all of his decisions been rational and appropriate, or had they been dictated by the everliving dictator?

His absence of protest testifies of the opening the psychiatrist had just bent. Doubt is a wonderful thing, Dr. Lecter reflects as he observes the frustration creasing the younger man's face. 

''Let me help you become free Will'' Doctor Lecter presses gently, voice soft and soothing. ''I will teach you to let go of fear. I Will help you realize your true potential...''

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, night night.


End file.
